


Of Doctors and Belles

by Careline



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Gen, the title is crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Careline/pseuds/Careline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by the followeing gifset:</p><p>http://isntthatwizard.tumblr.com/post/33113255195/au-meme-hannah-has-to-deal-with-one-of-her-most</p><p>Teen for mention of sex.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Of Doctors and Belles

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the followeing gifset:
> 
> http://isntthatwizard.tumblr.com/post/33113255195/au-meme-hannah-has-to-deal-with-one-of-her-most
> 
> Teen for mention of sex.

The first time I met John Smith, or like he liked to be called the „Doctor“, was nothing like I had experienced before.

He was in his mid-thirties, a physicist and had really great hair. 

We met randomly at a Hotel, where he almost ran me over, as he was hurrying down the floor, his brown coat flapping behing him, like some sort of super hero cape. 

When he saw me, he took my hand and dragged me with him. Ready to fight back, I raised my purse, but then he looked at me and dropped my hand like he had burned himself.

His eyes bore an expression, that I had never seen on a mans face before. It wasn't the usual look of admiration or attraction, that I was soused to getting. It was much deeper and for a second it made my heart skip a beat. He looked forlorn and at the same time, like he had found an oasis in the desert.

But as fast as it came, he shook his head, almost as if he was scolding himself and smiled. The dark, looming sadness in his eyes gone.

„Who are you then?“, he asked in a cheerful manner. 

„Who wants to know that?“, I asked. You could never be cautious enough with such weird guys.

„I'm the- John Smith! Pleased to meet you Ms...?“ 

„Belle“, I said. „My name is Belle, just Belle.“ He looked at me weirdly and I wonderd if he could tell that this wasn't my real name.

„Okay then, just Belle, I'm sorry I dragged you off like that. It was sort of an impulse. You remind me of a girl, I once knew. It was nice meeting you!“

With all that, said in an unbelievable speed, he smiled, turned around and left. 

I looked after him for some time, a bit confused about this whole conversation.

 

Now, months later John Smith is one of my most faithful clients and one of my weirdest at that.

His horrible pseydo identity, the fact that he always overpays me or that he always wears the same brown, pine-striped suit isn't the weird bit though. 

The weird bit is that he has no interest in having sex whatsoever. 

He rather just tinker around with things in my flat, effectively making my toaster „more sonic“ as he calls it. 

I tried everything to discover his preferences, but once I get too close to him, he recoils and leaves as fast as possible after my advances, so I kinda just let him do what he wants and listen to his never-ending chatter.

It's not unpleasant, it's rather nice actually.

But sometimes he isn't in his usual cheerful mood. Sometimes, when he thinks I can't see him, he looks at me with the same haunted, sad expression, that I saw in his eyes when we first met.

„Doctor?“, I ask as I take another sip my morning tea. I just got out of the shower this morning, when he suddenly rang me up to book me for a few hours. 

The Doctor looks at me and shoves his glasses back up his nose. „Brainy specs“ he calls them.

„Yes, Hannah?“ We are on first name basis, or rather my real name and his pseydo name basis now.

„When we first met, you said I reminded you of a girl, you once knew.“

His eyes darken and I see the sadness creeping up in them. He stops his tinkering with my coffee machine to look at me.

„Yes, you do“, he says simply. 

„Who was she?“ I wonder if it's alright to ask this, after all it's private and we usually never talk private stuff.

„She was...my friend. More of a friend actually.“ 

The sadness is evident in his eyes now and I almost wish I hadn't asked, because there is nothing of his usual cheerfulness left. 

He just looks broken, so much older than normal.

„What ...what happened to her?“, I ask, dreading the answer.

„I- I lost her“, he says, his voice raw with emotion and I ask no more of it.

We continue our regular routine of him coming over to work on my stuff and of me watching him and listening to his talking.

Sometimes I wonder, if seeing me so often, isn't more of a punishment, than a salvation for him.

Maybe one of these days, I hope I can see his sadness fade, but I doubt it ever will.

I'll never stop trying to make him laugh though.


End file.
